


Winning doesn't always mean coming in first

by Andithiel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco is a little shit, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Joggers, M/M, Our favourite boys being silly, Poor Sheila is so done, Rivalry, Running, The Ides of Drarry: A Drarry Game/Fest, Training Camp, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Yoga, but so is Harry, implied Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24371323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andithiel/pseuds/Andithiel
Summary: In preparation for the Charity Run for the War Orphans, Harry's on a training camp in southern Italy. Just his damn luck that Malfoy of all people should end up on the same trip, and seems determined to distract Harry with his stupid fit arse and his stupid enticing body. Well, maybe Harry has a few tricks up his sleeve (or short shorts) too?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 124
Collections: The Ides of Drarry: A Drarry Game/Fest





	Winning doesn't always mean coming in first

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Ides of Drarry 2020 with the prompt:  
> Harry or Draco is training for a marathon, but the other is making it quite difficult for him to succeed. Choose either 1) Rivals -OR- 2) Sexual Tension -OR- 3) Joggers!fic.  
> One of them is the defending champion of the event. Minimum: 1299 words - Maximum: 2999 words.  
> Must include a character Point of View other Draco and Harry. Minimum: 3799 words - Maximum: 4899 words.
> 
> Yeah of course I went with all of the above. I hope you enjoy reading about or silly boys as much as I loved to write them.
> 
> A million thanks to [Kristinabird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kristinabird/pseuds/Kristinabird) and [Scarshavestories](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarshavestories/pseuds/Scarshavestories) for helping me beta this and help me with all the weird expressions of the English language, you're the best and I love you ❤️❤️❤️

Sheila Allen heaved a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. This was unbearable. She was too fucking old for this shit. She was too fucking _experienced_ for this shit. She’d been organising these training camps in her family villa in southern Italy for _ten fucking years_ , and everyone loved her insight and knowledge on how to best reach your goals. They praised her ability to encourage you to push your body to its limits and beyond, with mental training as well as physical. She had the best record of all the running coaches available in Britain, and that was saying something. But this? Having to endure the sight of two rivals who were behaving like this was some sort of elaborate, aggressive, extended foreplay? She didn’t know how much more she could take of this idiocy.

“Gentlemen!” she barked out, pleased that she managed to pronounce the word so it sounded like the reprimand it was. Both men turned towards her, looking like they had only just now realised that she and the rest of the group were there. The dark haired one, Harry, blushed faintly, while the blond one with the odd name (Dragan?) merely raised an eyebrow at her, the absolute tosser. “Will the two of you please stop fucking about and come and join us?”

Harry at least had the grace to look a bit sheepish as he shuffled over to them. Apparently, he’d won a marathon the previous year, but Sheila had never heard of either him or that particular marathon. And apparently, Blondie (Drogo?) was going to compete against him this year, and was obviously doing everything in his power to rile Harry up. Sheila had gathered that they knew each other when they went to school, and that they’d been at each other’s throats back then as well. She’d never heard of the school either, but from what Harry had told her, it sounded like it was some sort of boarding school somewhere in Scotland.

Hands on her hips, she watched the two idiots take their places on opposite sides of the circle of runners. If she’d known how much toil it would be to have them both here, she’d never have accepted Blondie’s (Draco!) late application for this training camp. No matter how much extra he’d paid, this simply wasn’t worth it.

“Right,” she said, fixing Harry and Draco (such a strange name) with a stare each, “we’re going to do a group challenge on this slope. You’re all going to be starting at the same time, when the first of you has reached the peak, everyone turns and jogs back down. The one who got to the top first has to catch up with the rest of the group so you’ll all return at the same time. Then we’ll repeat it until I say you’re done. Any questions?” She looked around at them all, noticing that Draco and Harry seemed to have some sort of silent argument going on: Draco was smirking, his eyebrow drawn up, and Harry was scowling. “Well then! Get set!” she said, clapping her hands. Both Harry and Draco startled, but followed the others and taking their places. “And go!” Sheila shouted, watching as the group of 14 people set off.

* * *

“Stop crowding me, Malfoy!” Harry snapped, planting his feet firmer into the ground and bracing himself to keep from falling over as Malfoy pressed the entire length of his body against Harry’s.

“Oh, do forgive me, Potter, but if you looked around you and noticed anything else outside of that big head of yours, you’d see that it is, in fact, fairly crowded here.”

Reluctantly, Harry relaxed and looked around, but of course Malfoy took the opportunity to press himself past Harry while he had his guard down, ending up stood so that his arse (his runner’s tights clad arse, not that it mattered what it was wrapped in, and not that it mattered that it left nothing to the imagination, not that it mattered that it was the firmest fucking arse Harry had ever seen, or felt, for that matter) was rubbing against Harry’s thigh.

“And go!” Ms Allen shouted behind them, and the entire group took off, Malfoy getting a fraction of a second’s head start on Harry. This wouldn’t do.

Harry leaned forward, running as fast as he could to catch up with Malfoy, and to his immense satisfaction he reached the top of the hill a mere foot before the git. He only had time to flash Malfoy a smug grin before Ms Allen blew her whistle and he had to turn around to go downhill, Malfoy pressed to his side. The next round, Harry initially thought that he could let Malfoy win this time, but when he saw Malfoy’s arse flexing as he ran, Harry had to run past him again, because it was too damn distracting. The third time, his muscles started to ache slightly from the lactic acid, but he wasn’t about let Malfoy win even one damn round.

After ten rounds, Harry felt like he might faint from the exhaustion, but was pleased that he’d managed to win every round except for the seventh one where Malfoy had “accidentally” tripped him. The whole group was standing at the foot of the slope, all breathing heavily and gratefully accepting the water bottles that Ms Allen was handing out. Harry took a large gulp of water, but choked on it and had a coughing fit when he spotted Malfoy grabbing the hem of his sweaty shirt and peeling it off his body, his muscles moving invitingly as he did so. This wasn’t the first time Harry had seen Malfoy’s bare chest, they’d been on this training camp for three days now, but he’d never been caught off guard like this. Eyes watering, he reluctantly let his gaze wander over Malfoy’s body: his pale skin, the drops of sweat gathered in the hollow above his collarbones, his pink nipples drawn to tight buds even in the warmth of the mediterranean sun, the fair hairs below his navel, gathering into a trail running down until they disappeared under the waistline of his running tights, his hip bones jutting out, creating a little gap between them and his abdomen, a gap where one could easily slip a finger or two inside, just to feel the soft sensitive skin under one’s fingertips and —

Harry had to shake himself, and to his horror, he saw that Malfoy had caught him staring, because there was no mistaking what that particular smirk meant, or the way Malfoy’s eyes travelled up and down Harry’s own body. He turned his head, happy that his blush wouldn’t be visible since he was already flushed from running.

“Well well, Potter. Enjoying the view?” Malfoy said, taking a swig from his bottle before he tipped his head back and poured some of the water over his face. He raked through his hair with one hand, his bicep and deltoid flexing, and was it really Harry’s fault that he couldn’t stop staring? A nice body was a nice body, even if it happened to belong to one of magical Britain’s most obnoxious people.

“I know what you’re doing,” Harry snapped, trying to fix Malfoy with a glare.

Malfoy grinned in a most predatory way, looking Harry up and down while leaning back against an olive tree. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, Potter.”

“I think you do,” Harry said, turning fully towards Malfoy and taking one step closer.

“Oh, you mean this?” Malfoy gestured over his bare chest, making Harry, quite involuntarily, look at it again. Malfoy’s grin grew even wider, but then he quickly schooled his features to a look of innocence. “I’m so sorry, Potter, is this distracting to you?”

Harry clenched his teeth, trying to come up with a snarky retort, but nothing came to mind. “You wish,” he muttered, trying but failing to ignore the low sultry chuckle from Malfoy.

“Okay everyone, great work!” Ms Allen clapped her hands to get the group’s attention. “Let’s head back to the house.” As she walked past Harry she gave him a disapproving look. “Don’t forget to stretch when we get back.”

“Mmm, thanks for the reminder, Sheila,” Malfoy said, and Harry noticed that he received an even filthier look from her. “Would you mind helping me out with the stretching, Potter?” Malfoy continued, turning to Harry. “Make sure I get all the _kinks_ out.”

Harry didn’t answer, he was too busy trying to hide the way his cock had swelled while witnessing Malfoy’s little show. What the fuck was wrong with him?

* * *

The next day, Harry was downstairs in the kitchen, blissfully alone. He’d spent the remainder of the previous day avoiding Malfoy, something that proved to be virtually impossible since the git showed up everywhere Harry went. Whether Harry was in the living room or the kitchen or out on the patio, Malfoy seemed to know where he was and set on accompanying him there to bug the ever living shit out of Harry. If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d suspect Malfoy had a Marauder’s Map for this house. But today, he’d woken up early and snuck downstairs to eat breakfast in solitude before the others came down. 

He felt incredibly pleased with himself as he cut up some oranges to make himself freshly squeezed juice, but his mood was instantly ruined by footsteps descending the stairs. He knew those footsteps, knew all too well who they belonged to. And sure enough, a moment later Malfoy entered the kitchen, dressed in a tank top and grey joggers that hung low on his hips, exposing the skin just above the waistband as he moved.

“Oh, Potter, you’re up already.” 

Malfoy was obviously trying to sound surprised, but Harry knew better than that. He glared at the tosser to show his dislike, and not at all because he couldn’t take his eyes off Malfoy’s infuriatingly well muscled shoulders, or how his chest showed through the lowly cut armholes of his top, or how those joggers must be held up by magic, or by the grace of some deity, because they certainly looked like they could come off enticingly easily. If one just tugged gently at them, they’d probably fall all the way down at once, and from what Harry could see, he realised with a funny feeling spreading to his crotch, Malfoy wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“Obviously,” Harry gritted out, pressing his oranges a little too hard, making him reach the pith. Great. Fucking Malfoy. Now the juice would taste bitter.

“Hmm, and here I was, thinking I was the early bird, but I guess you beat me to that as well, didn’t you?”

Malfoy sauntered up to Harry, and Harry almost dropped the orange he was trying to squeeze juice from as Malfoy came to stand not even an inch from him, his body heat radiating towards Harry.

“M-Malfoy? What—?” Harry said, not sounding at all like a stuttering mess.

“Oh please, Potter, I’m merely fetching a glass,” Malfoy said, pressing himself so close that his arm brushed Harry’s before he reached up towards the cupboard. Harry’s head was still turned to him, and suddenly he had his nose full of the smell from Malfoy’s armpit, and Harry almost lost his bearings. It wasn’t that the smell was unpleasant at all, but rather… enjoyable? It was like a concentrated essence of Malfoy’s smell, musky and sweet, and Harry felt a tingling sensation in his spine, spreading forwards to his belly and down lower. What the fuck?

Malfoy took his sweet time choosing a glass, standing on tiptoes, and Harry distinctly did _not_ notice the way his arse perked out, or how his shirt rode up to expose his stomach, because his brain was occupied with the unexpected closeness, and not at all wondering if there were other parts of Malfoy’s body that smelled like that if one were to bury one’s nose against his skin. Finally, Malfoy apparently found what he was looking for, and he let out a contented little sigh as he came down on his feet, shaking his hair out of his eyes. He turned to Harry, and his eyes widened exaggeratedly into a look of faux surprise.

“Oh my, Potter, I’m so sorry, did I distract you again?” he said, putting a hand over his heart, and Harry realised he’d been standing completely still for an entire minute by now, still holding a hollowed out half of an orange. His face heated at the realisation and he quickly turned away with the pretense of throwing the orange rind away.

“You wish,” Harry muttered, and it wasn’t until he heard Malfoy’s low chuckle that he realised that was the exact reaction he’d had the last time Malfoy had asked him that. 

Fuck. He needed to up his game, he could _not_ let Malfoy get under his clothes - no, skin. _Skin_ \- like this. At least not without retaliation. He narrowed his eyes at Malfoy, who was strutting out of the kitchen and onto the patio, hips swaying as he went.

Game on, Malfoy, Harry thought to himself. Game fucking on.

* * *

The next morning, Harry had signed up for a yoga class, and he was prepared. When Malfoy strolled in, again in those low slung joggers with apparently nothing else under them, Harry knew he would take the place beside Harry’s yoga mat, even though the room was practically empty with only two other participants and the instructor. And sure enough, with his signature faux innocent look, Malfoy crouched down beside Harry to roll out his mat. Harry did not notice how the fabric of Malfoy’s joggers stretched across his arse as he bent forwards, or the graceful way he folded his legs underneath him to sit down in the lotus position. Malfoy turned to Harry, blinking serenely.

“Oh, forgive me, Potter,” he said, with the same familiar surprised tone as he’d used everytime he uttered those words, “is this place taken?”

Harry shook his head and smiled sweetly. “No, no, not at all!” he said, and was pleased to see that this seemed to throw Malfoy off a bit. 

Just then, the instructor greeted them all, and Harry took the opportunity, while Malfoy’s attention was on her, to quickly strip off his own sweatpants and shrink them down to hide them under one corner of his yoga mat. When Malfoy turned to Harry again, he looked like he was choking on his own saliva, but he quickly tried to hide it by pretending to cough. 

Harry tilted his head to the side, trying his best to look concerned. “Something wrong, Malfoy?”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Malfoy said, taking a swig from his water bottle. “Is that… Is that what you’re wearing?”

“Why yes, I always wear short shorts when I do yoga,” Harry said, making his smile even sweeter. “I find it allows for maximum mobility.”

Malfoy didn’t answer, because their instructor was telling them to rise, with her calm, lilting voice, and then the class started. 

They began with a sun salutation, and as Harry semi squatted and raised his arms, his top rose a bit. He smirked when he heard a sharp intake of breath to his left. He turned his head slightly and smiled at Malfoy.

“You know, you should focus on breathing slowly and calmly,” he said, furrowing his brows to a look of concern. “Soothe your mind.” He turned to the front again and folded himself forwards, palms against the floor, and as planned, his shorts rode up a little bit, exposing the bottom part of his buttocks. Malfoy made a strangled sound beside him and Harry bit back a snort.

As they went through the half lift, the chaturanga and the upward dog, Harry made sure to do every movement as precisely and deliberately as he could, focusing on stretching his body, breathing loudly with small grunts, and was very pleased that his choice of clothing showed his muscles off. He was also pleased to hear that Malfoy seemed to have trouble with his breathing.

“Are you alright, Malfoy?” Harry said as he, with a sigh, went into the downward dog, glancing at Malfoy, who quickly turned his face towards the floor. It was hard to see properly, but Harry thought he could see Malfoy flushing. He got into the warrior position, arching his back a little more than strictly necessary to accentuate his arse.

“Could you not?” Malfoy said, sounding pained.

Harry smiled and got down on the floor, then up into the upward dog again.

“Could I not what?” he said innocently, pushing back into the downward dog. “Mmm, that feels good.”

“Are you doing yoga or are you practicing some kind of… live show?” Malfoy said as they got into the warrior position again, wobbling slightly on his back foot.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Harry said, arching his back as far as he could when he went into the upward dog for the last time. “Unless — mmm, that’s the spot — “ he said as he bent into the downward dog, “unless you find this… distracting?” He made sure to push his bum out as far as he could when he did the half lift, and Malfoy growled lowly. Harry folded himself, happy that this position made it impossible for Malfoy to see his grin, but gave him what Harry knew was a glorious view of how flexible Harry was.

The rest of the session went by in this fashion, with Harry trying his best to accentuate his arse and chest, as well as “accidentally” brush Malfoy’s skin when he was reaching his arms out. Every time, Malfoy would flinch almost imperceptibly, and try to move away from Harry, but their mats were so close together that it was hard to do so without making too much of a fuss.

Finally, they were all sitting in the lotus position, palms together and their instructor bowed them off with a Namaste. Harry turned to Malfoy with a serene smile firmly in place.

“Mmm, I love yoga, don’t you, Malfoy?” Harry said, folding his hands and stretching them up above his head with a reverent sigh. “I think it really helps your - ah - blood flow,” he added with a glance down at Malfoy’s crotch, where a bulge was visible through the thin fabric. Harry rose gracefully from the floor and was pleased to see Malfoy’s pale cheeks turn a flattering shade of pink as he looked down at his mat. “Need any help there, Malfoy? I mean with getting up,” Harry said, and when Malfoy’s eyes flitted to his with a slightly panicked look, he smirked, “from the floor.”

Malfoy’s gaze turned harder, more calculating, and Harry suddenly felt like he was becoming the underdog.

“Why, Potter, so nice of you to offer,” Malfoy said and stretched out his hand. 

Even though everything in him screamed that this was some sort of trap, Harry took Malfoy’s hand, slowly, and braced himself. But Malfoy seemed to have changed his mind, because he remained sitting. Confused, Harry relaxed, and that’s when Malfoy yanked his arm, making him lose his balance and fall straight into Malfoy’s lap, straddling him. Harry gasped as Malfoy’s burgeoning erection came into contact with his own cock, and Malfoy looked like the cat that got the cream.

“Oh, Potter, I —” Malfoy said coyly, the fucking _tosser_. He was grabbing Harry around the waist, while Harry’s hands were on Malfoy’s shoulders, and they were so, so close. Malfoy had his face turned upwards, and if Harry just tilted his head a little bit their lips would —

“ _GENTLEMEN!_ ” an angry voice suddenly barked out behind Harry, and both he and Malfoy froze. Harry slowly turned around, and was not at all surprised to see Ms Allen standing in the doorway to the yoga studio, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Do either of you think this is appropriate behaviour _in public_?!” 

Harry scrambled up to standing, stammering his apologies, but Malfoy merely leaned back, supporting himself on his hands, a satisfied smile on his lips. “I’m terribly sorry, Ms Allen, we’ll try to keep it private from now on.”

Harry stared at him, horrified. “You wish, Malfoy,” he hissed, ignoring the look of hurt that flickered across Malfoy’s face at his words. He grabbed his water bottle and squeezed past Ms Allen, thinking that he couldn’t get away from there fast enough.

Thank _fuck_ that this week was over soon.

* * *

Sheila watched with eyebrows drawn down as the group left, bags slung over their shoulders. Harry and Draco were jostling each other as they went and she was happy to see the back of them. Thank goodness this week was finally coming to an end, she couldn’t stand a minute longer in the presence of those damn idiots and their fucking bullshit. 

When Harry shoved Draco so forcefully that he lost his balance, she heaved a deep sigh and turned so she wouldn’t have to see the retaliation she knew would come. Usually she would stand on the porch until everyone was out of sight, but this time she went into the house to pour herself a very stiff drink. No one else in the history of mankind had deserved it more than she.

* * *

A week later, Harry was accompanied by Ron and Hermione to the Marathon, as well as loads of reporters who wanted to document every single step of the way, a “perk” he had to endure since he was the defending champion of the race. Ron tried to calm him down by making jokes at the expense of the nosiest reporters, while Hermione took the lead and wove her way through the crowd to where Harry’s group was supposed to start. Reluctantly, Harry waved them off when they got there, but luckily, the reporters weren’t allowed in here either, and Harry took the opportunity to close his eyes and try to find his focus, to try to conjure a mental image of running with calm, deliberate steps and measured breathing.

“Well, well, well, if this isn’t my lucky day,” an all too familiar voice said right in his ear, and Harry snapped out of his mindfulness. “First I get to spend a week with the _famous_ Harry Potter in southern Italy, and now I’m in the same starting group as well.”

Harry looked up and into Malfoy’s grey eyes, which were glittering with malice.

“How did you get into this starting group? It’s supposed to be for runners who’ve been seeded.”

Malfoy chuckled self satisfactorily. “Oh I’m ‘seeded’ alright.” At Harry’s disbelievingly raised eyebrow he took on a more serious expression. “I would have thought you’d be aware by now, that with the right amount of money, and the knowledge of who to use it on, you can get almost anything you want.”

“And what is it that you want, Malfoy? The opportunity to annoy me to the point of madness?”

“Well, I can’t deny that that _would_ be a bonus, but I’ve also missed seeing your gorgeous arse in those running tights terribly, and I thought this was my best chance.”

Harry folded his arms across his chest, glaring at Malfoy. “ Well, I didn’t realise it was story time. Why don’t you tell me all about Little Red Riding Hood as well?”

“Who?” Malfoy said, looking confused.

“Nevermind,” Harry sighed, “just stop insulting my intelligence with that nonsense about my arse.”

Malfoy gave him a blank look before shaking himself and regaining his usual poise. “Fine, I made a wager with Pansy and Blaise that I could beat you in this race, and I know that I still have the same ability to distract you as I did in school.”

“Oh, is that right, Malfoy?” Harry said, leaning in closer and into Malfoy’s personal space. “Well, as far as I remember, I had the same effect on you. I recall a smashed glass at our OWLs. So let’s see who manages to distract the other the most.”

Malfoy leaned back, looking Harry up and down with a smirk that seemed more assessing now, more on guard.

“You’re on, Potter.”

* * *

  
_  
**Marathon Mishap!**  
_

_It has been two days since the Charity Run for the War Orphans, and still no sighting has been made of either contestants Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy._

_The two of them were last seen sprinting towards the finish line, after a closely fought race. With only a few yards left, there was some shoving and attempts at tripping one another, until they tumbled to the ground, rolling away in what looked like a wrestling match, disappearing into the woods. When they hadn’t returned after 20 minutes, onlookers and volunteers started searching for them, without any luck._

_“I see no reason to worry about Harry’s wellbeing, he did defeat the Dark Lord, after all, and he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself. As for your accusations about Mr Malfoy planning to abduct him,” says Hermione Granger, initiator of the marathon and a long time friend of Harry Potter, “I’d like to remind you all that Mr Malfoy has served his punishment and made atonements for what he did during the Second Wizarding War.”_

_For more on this story, see p. 5_

* * *

“Did you see this?” Harry said, waving the copy of _The Daily Prophet_ in the direction of Malfoy’s ensuite bathroom. “They’re still looking for us, and no one has thought about coming here to search.”

“Could be because I put an obliviation spell on the place to make everyone coming here forget what they were looking for,” Malfoy said, appearing in the doorway, with those joggers hanging on his hips. Those joggers that Harry knew the texture of by heart now. Those joggers that Harry had ripped off more times than he could count these last two days since Malfoy had apparated them here after their wrestling match had developed into a kissing match.

“Well well, aren’t you the cunning Slytherin?” Harry said, folding the paper and setting it aside and uncrossing his legs. He noticed how Malfoy’s gaze followed the action, noticed his eyes widening at the sight of Harry’s erection. Harry smirked and got off the bed, walking up to Malfoy and standing so close that he could feel the hairs of Malfoy’s chest brushing his own, without touching his skin. “Now, do you want to show me you have some stamina? Will you be able to hold out longer than me?” he murmured, leaning close to Malfoy’s ear.

Malfoy shivered, but his voice was as firm as his hand on Harry’s cock was when he said, “Oh don’t worry, Potter. This time, _I’ll_ be the one to finish last.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are lovely ❤️
> 
> I'm also [on tumblr](https://andithiel.tumblr.com//)! Come say hi!


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